I pulled slowly on the heavy metal handle, opening the door by a crack just wide enough to see around. It was constructed awkwardly for sneaking, since the handle was at chest height and obstructed the view. I looked around it as best I could. The coast seemed clear. Such noises as I heard seemed to be coming only from the floor above.
I pulled the door open wider and slipped through it, putting my hand on it to slide it gently shut. The lock clicked in with a faint snap. I froze. I thought I’d slid the bolt free, but apparently it sprang back as soon as I removed my thumb. Now I was locked on the far side with whoever was waiting above me. Since this exposed entrance was a terrible place to work on a complex lock, I’d have to make the best of it. The worst thing to do at times like these is upbraid yourself. You make a mistake, you should tie a knot and go on, not fuddle your wits with recriminations.
Since the door opened behind the staircase, I couldn’t tell if anyone was on the stairs or not. I could hear voices now, just grunts and faint cries of “Hold it!” or “Shit!” followed by a loud thump.
I crept out from my sanctuary. The front door stood ajar. Through it I could make out two or three cars, but the angle was too poor and the light too dim to tell whether I’d seen any of them before.
The door at the top of the stairs, which had been shut on my previous visit, stood open wide. From the bottom I could just make out the first yard or so beyond it. No one seemed to be in the immediate entrance. Hugging the side of the stairs, I went up as quietly as I could.
I climbed the last few steps on my hands and knees and lay flat at the top to peer ahead. An unlit walkway led from the door to a brightly lit, open area beyond. The grunts and thumps were coming from there. I could also hear the cranes clanking away. A handful of men were slowly moving past the entrance, maneuvering a giant hoop.
The walkway itself was dug from a small storage area. On either side of me loomed giant shapes about the size of cows. They were probably old machines, but the light from the room beyond cast ungainly shadows behind them; not of cows, but of monsters from the primordial swamp that spawned Chicago. The fancy made me shiver.
I waited for the four pairs of legs in front of me to finish moving their hoop, then hoisted myself upright and skittered for a nearby shadow. The bulk in front of me was definitely metal, not flesh, and had a thick coating of dust on it. I held my nose firmly to pinch back another sneeze.
My eyes were accustomed enough to the dim that I could make out the major shapes, but not the small bits of debris that cluttered the floor. The area seemed to have been Diamond Head’s dumping ground for years. As I moved cautiously across the floor I kept running into pipes and bits of wire and other things I could only guess at. I finally got myself into a position where I could see a good chunk of the lighted area.
I was looking at the big shelf built above the loading dock. This led to a major storage area, which was out of my sightline. There seemed to be four men using hand-operated lifts to move giant spools over to the edge. That, too, was out of my range, but I presumed the gantry was taking them to the dock below, where they could be loaded onto the trucks.
From the size of the one spool they shoved past while I was watching, I couldn’t believe they could put more than one on a truck. In fact, it was the kind of load usually moved on a flatbed. I didn’t know how they proposed getting them into the trailers, nor yet how to strap them down. I also didn’t know what was on them. What was packed that way? Some kind of coiled metal.
I craned my neck, trying to see if anything was written on the side. “Paragon” was stamped in such large letters that I didn’t notice them at first. Paragon. The steel company whose controller didn’t want to discuss Diamond Head. Maybe because he knew the motor company was taking Paragon products and selling them on the black market?
Without warning, the sneeze I’d been suppressing came bursting forth with the intensity of a machine gun blast. I hoped the noise of the belt would drown me, but two of the men were apparently just on the other side of the entrance. They called to the others, their voices all too audible. A brief argument: had they heard something or were they just imagining it?
I crouched low behind a giant metal plane. The ostrich approach. If I couldn’t see them, they wouldn’t notice me.
“Oh, for Chrissake, Gleason. Who’s gonna be here?”
“I told you the boss called, warned me that there’s been a detective snooping around. And he got wind she’s in the neighborhood tonight.”
The first speaker gave a crack of laughter. “A girl detective. I don’t know who’s a bigger fool—you or Chamfers. If it’ll make you happy we can take a look around—want to hold on to my hand?” The last words came out in an ugly jeer.